


The Easiest, Most Obvious Thing

by mudkipwrites



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Love Confessions, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Surprise Ending, Surprise Kissing, Tenderness, accidental confessions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:02:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24033991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mudkipwrites/pseuds/mudkipwrites
Summary: Kallus and Zeb debrief after a mission. Their conversation takes a surprisingly tender turn.
Relationships: Alexsandr Kallus/Garazeb "Zeb" Orrelios
Comments: 22
Kudos: 177
Collections: Kalluzeb appreciation week 2020.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elleTchj](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elleTchj/gifts).



> This love-confession fic is for @biobiwan, and is inspired by her illustration of this scene. If I could thank one person for providing such incredible kindness, inspiration and creativity to this fandom, it is her. Elle, you are such a lovely human being, and your art reflects that in every brushstroke. Thanks for being you!! Y’all, check out her artwork. Link in the endnotes.

* * *

KALLUZEB APPRECIATION WEEK 2020 - DAY 6 / WEDNESDAY MAY 6 / "CONFESSION" 

for elleTchj / biobiwan <3

* * *

Garazeb Orrelios wipes a furred forearm across his sweating brow. 

It’s been another close call for the crew of the Ghost: narrowly escaping a squad of troopers, they’d exchanged blaster-fire with a pursuit of hired mercs, and just _barely_ escaped by leaping across a gaping cavern. If his mission partner had not been clinging tightly to his back, Zeb isn’t sure that the other man would have made it. 

Sighing with relief and exhaustion, he sinks back against the cool, durasteel wall. 

“Well, _that_ could have gone better,” an equally grateful voice says from beside him. 

Alexsandr Kallus is pulling the strands of his loose, sandy hair away from his face. It’s grown long and lovely during his time on base with the Alliance: these days, he opts to hold it back in a ponytail or a bun so that it stays out of his keen, golden eyes. 

“Eh, maybe,” Zeb chuckles, “but it went pretty great by _rebel_ standards.” 

The former Imperial catches his eye. When he smiles, the gesture makes Zeb’s heart flutter. He _likes_ that Kallus has begun to listen and appreciate his humor. He likes that he’s been assigned as his partner for the last several missions. He _likes._

“I suppose,” the human smirks. He walks towards a crate marked heavily with striped tape, and plops himself down on the surface. “ _Ah._ That planet was _hot!”_

Zeb smiles to himself, crossing over to join him. _Hot Kallus._ It’s a name that they’ve been quietly teasing him with since the man had defected and taken up residence on Yavin 4’s base. Even though Alexsandr Kallus is a courageous man, he is decidedly modest; so Zeb never teases him with the words to his face, no matter _how_ appropriately he thinks they apply. 

“Mmm. Didn’ expect that there’d be anythin’ valuable on Tatooine, but, ya never know. Probably still good that we checked it out. Anyway, it’s best ta just follow whatever’s in General Syndulla’s orders.” 

The name makes both of the tired men smirk. Hera _hates_ it when family calls her by rank. 

“Hera knows best,” Kallus agrees. He groans, stretching his arms above his head. “Mm, a fresher sure sounds nice right about now…” 

The gesture of fabric tugging over his long arms makes Zeb start with a sudden realization. 

“Alexsandr!” he says, crouching closer to see. “Wait. You’re _hurt_!” 

Upon his friend’s supple forearm, there is a deep gash. Even though he has not made so much as a sound, the wound looks quite painful: it has torn through the tough, durable fabric of his layered shirts, and has left an angry gouge of leaking blood and torn flesh. 

“It’s nothing,” Alexsandr Kallus replies quickly. 

To his surprise and dismay, the human turns away. He shifts a gloved hand so that it covers the painful-looking wound on his arm, and refuses to meet Zeb’s concerned, steady gaze. A ripple of concern crosses the Lasat’s lavender brow. 

“Naw, you _are_ hurt,” Zeb repeats, refusing to be deflected. “Sit back, an’ let me take a look at it here.” 

He comes to stand next to where Kallus is sitting on the crate, and rests one hand upon his shoulder. The other man is still covering his wound, but he has not outright refused Zeb. 

“Alright?” 

With an embarrassed shrug of his shoulder, Kallus relents and draws his own hand away. 

“Good,” Zeb confirms. Resting one hand upon the crate where his friend is sitting, he leans closer in to examine the wound. 

It isn’t pretty: most likely, Kallus has been bleeding for quite some time, and at this point of blood-loss, he will likely need an application of bacta in addition to the standard med-pac. However, the slash is not nearly so deep as to be lethal--and the Lasat suspects that it is unlikely that Kallus will be left with any damage more lasting than a twisted scar. _(Come to think of it, it might be rather handsome. This one looks a bit like a stripe.)_

He places one hand on either side of the wound. 

“Oh, Kallus…”

“I’ll be _fine,_ ” his friend mutters, still looking away. 

Zeb notices that the man’s pale, freckled cheeks have become slightly flushed. Beneath the ripple of anger carried in his protest, he can sense something bruised, raw, and sad. 

“You don’t need to do this.” 

Zeb grunts in dismissal. Using his thumbs, he gently spreads the torn fabric. 

“Well,” he replies, “ _somebody’s_ gotta take care of ya.” 

Kallus remains quiet. 

Narrowing his gaze, Zeb leans in even closer. Gingerly, he sniffs at the wound. _Good. No sign or smell of infection._ If they can attend to this quickly back at the med-bay, Alexsandr Kallus will be out of pain soon. Still, it’s a good thing that Garazeb caught it; something like this could turn bad rather quickly. 

“Ya know, I’m probably not the one who oughta say this, but you _gotta_ start bein’ more careful out there, Alex.”

He hadn’t _meant_ to use the pet-name. Inside of his head, he often calls the other man by something soft and sweet like this ( _Alexsandr, Lex, sometimes even Sasha)._ Even as their friendship has started to bloom, he hasn’t dared move across this professional alley. In the silence that follows, he wonders if maybe he has overstepped. 

“Kal?” he asks, looking down at him, concerned. 

In a moment of startling clarity, the other man turns to match his gaze. He smiles. 

“I think I love you,” he says simply. 

So _soft_. And so _easily_. As though it is the most natural, obvious thing in the _world_. 

Garazeb doesn’t know what to do. His stomach drops, and his fluttering heart inside of his chest _explodes_. Mind racing into overdrive, the Lasat feels his ears flicking out to the side--an expression of surprise, interest, or alarm. With shaking hands, he releases the hold that he has upon Alexsandr Kallus’ arm, and he allows his paws to come and swing at his sides. 

He blinks.

 _“Karabast,_ ” Zeb says softly. 

A look of delayed realization and _horror_ sweeps across the human’s face. He snaps his mouth shut, and he flings his hands up to cover his mouth, as though he might be able to retract the slipped, traitorous words. 

“I-I don’t know what came over me!” Alexandr Kallus exclaims, golden eyes open wide with alarm. “I, I can-- _mmph!”_

His beautiful, lovely, stammering mouth is silenced by the press of Garazeb’s lips.

Leaning forward on the crate, Garazeb angles downward and kisses the man that he’s liked--that he’s _loved--_ for so long. 

The moment of Kallus’ wild surprise gives away into a soft, tender sweetness, and Zeb sighs into the feeling of their mouths brushing together. 

_Karabast. Yes._

He’s seen Kanan do it several times to Hera: a gesture of affection, devotion, and intimacy exchanged between many bi-pedal aliens. However, _nothing_ could have compared to the softness and beauty that is feeling the sweet, warm breath of his companion fanning against his lips--the tickling, soft brush of their sensitive skin meeting skin.

He raises his hands so that he can cup the soft, golden sides of his shaggy beard, and sinks into the loving sensation. 

“ _Oh.”_ Kallus says when they finally break apart for a breath. 

He raises his hands to match Zeb’s, palms resting open and warm on top of his hands. From just a lips’-distance away, the Lasat can see that Kallus’ lovely eyes--once so sad, and then, so very frightened--are now glittering with unshed, joyful tears. 

“ _Karabast,_ Zeb. I--I really--” 

Their lips meet again. 

This time it’s with slightly more heat. Zeb shuffles forward to stand between his partner’s legs, bowing deeper and more heavily into the touch. He allows his hands to trail down the human’s jawline, his shoulders, his sides--until they come to rest on either side of his thick, powerful thighs. As Alexsandr opens his mouth, Garazeb groans into the _hot-slick-sweet-wetness_ of it, allowing their tongues to mingle and taste. 

He digs his claws into the grain of the crate beneath them, relishing the heady pleasure jolting through him. 

The sound of a com-link crackles to life between them. 

“Spectre Four, come in,” General Hera Syndulla's voice says over the static. 

Zeb ignores it. Love-drunk, he raises one of his hands, pawing at the edge of Kallus’ shirt. The other man sighs and leans into his touch, and soon, his clawed fingertips are tracing over soft flesh. 

“I repeat, Spectre Four. Fulcrum. Come in.” 

Kallus laughs softly and groans with satisfaction as Zeb unseals their lips and tilts his lover’s head to the side. He begins to slowly and tenderly lick at his ear, moving down from the spot to lave at his throat. 

“Spectre Four. Fulcrum.” 

The human moans as Zeb tilts his jaw to the side, beginning to nibble at the pulse-point under the fragile skin of his neck. Alexsandr Kallus tastes just as good as he smells: _Attractive. Exciting. Dangerous._

Kallus sighs with satisfaction as the curve of Zeb’s chest bends him down. He raises both of his hands to grip at his back, fingertips twining into the fabric of his jumpsuit and tugging him ever closer. Encouraged by the soft noises that he is making ( _and by the hardness he feels rapidly growing between them),_ Garazeb begins to suck at the skin of his partner’s throat. He considers what else they might do on this crate. 

“For the Last time. Spectre Four. Fulcrum. COME. IN.” 

With a sigh, Alexsandr Kallus pushes back against Zeb. Immediately, the larger man relinquishes, and his partner pushes his head away with a chuckle. 

“Ah. We need to get that,” Kallus says. He does not at _all_ sound convinced. 

Zeb closes his eyes, savoring the sound of his delight and the warmth of this feeling between them. He does not know if he has ever been this happy. 

“Aww, yer breakin’ my heart!” he teases, poking at the soft roundness of Kallus’ belly. 

The human reclines on the crate and _giggles._

Grinning from ear to ear, feeling lighter than a cloud, Garazeb Orrelios picks up the blinking comm device. 

“Hey, Hera. Sorry ‘bout the delay. We were--” he looks over at Kallus, who covers his mouth to suppress the noise of his uncontrollable, snorting laughter--”uh, we were just debriefin’ about the mission.” 

The Lasat grins at the other man, who grins right back. _Casual._

“Mm-hmm,” Hera’s voice replies, layered with amusement. “A bit _handsy_ for a ‘debriefing,’ wouldn’t you say?” 

Both of the men freeze. 

Zeb’s eyes flicker towards Kallus, staying stalk-still and holding his breath. Kallus, for his part, is radiating between humiliation and delirious pleasure. He looks embarrassed, yes--but he also looks _glad._

“Er, ah,” Garazeb begins.

“You _do_ remember that we have holo-cams placed in the hold, right?” the Twi’lek general says. 

It’s more of a statement than a question, really. _Obviously,_ they had forgotten. 

Kallus cannot hold it in any longer. Bursting through the weave of his hands, he begins to laugh until he is practically _crying._ Zeb throws his arm around him, picking back up the comm.

“Right. Just thought that we’d be testin’ those out,” he says, giving Kallus a roguish wink.

The pair of them dissolve into giggles. 

“Ten-four, lover-boy. Get yourselves freshened up, then report to the cabin. I have another mission for you.” 

Helping one another to stand--and then, _wondrously,_ staying in contact by holding on to one another’s hands--the pair of rebels make their way out of the bay and upwards into the ship. As they begin to climb up the ladder, Zeb throws a over his shoulder. 

“So, ya _think_ that ya love me?” he asks. 

He is just teasing. He already knows. 

Alexsandr Kallus’ laugh makes every moment of the mission worth it. 

“I’m fairly certain, actually, Captain,” he replies casually. 

Zeb pauses in his climb up the ladder, allowing his friend--his partner--his _lover_ to collide with him from below. Reaching down, he scoops him closer. 

“Love ya too, Kal.” he replies affectionately. “I love you, too.” 

They kiss again.


	2. Art by elletchi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Make sure to check out out all of Elle's incredible artwork at her tumblr: (https://elletchi.tumblr.com). She gave me permission to post this here. Please make sure to always check with artists before you share their work! Thank you!

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is based on biobiwan / elleTchj's confession comic: 
> 
> https://biobiwan.tumblr.com/post/190411930913/i-come-with-gifts-of-a-first-kiss-kalluzeb-comic
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! Please leave a comment and/or kudos if you have the time. <3


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